There
by Alice Turner
Summary: A first-hand tale of life at Hogwarts and the years leading up to the greatest wizard battle of all time, as told by Freya Crimley.


The silence was terrifying. Even all these years later, I can distinctly remember the sound of absolute nothing, while knowing perfectly well that noise should be expected. I ran down the stone hallway, hoping, praying, that they were all right. That they weren't dead and _he_ hadn't won and the world wasn't over. _He_ was smart, that was a given. _He_ had separated us into several groups, trying to weed Harry out and catch him off guard. _He_ was winning. A makeshift hospital had been arranged on our side, and hurt members of the order and the school flocked to its limited safety. All those deemed fit enough to run were sent back into the battle. I sprinted past, noticing a few of my friends from Ravenclaw with a sad grimace. Once again, we were losing. I debated on whether or not I should go back, to comfort them and be with them and tell them everything was all right, even when it wasn't. This wasn't my battle, I considered…

No. I swore I would, these are my friends, my order, my school, my world. This battle is everyone's battle. The fact that I was a Mudblood made the hypothetical loss of this event much more terrifying, but at the same time, it made the victory seem ten times sweeter. I was helping to pave the way to justice for Mudbloods all over England. As I skid around a corner, the subjects of the ancient paintings long gone into hiding, I heard a sound: the sound of crunching stone. The sound one usually associated with Bellatrix Lestrange. She was flailing her wand madly at the surrounding Hogwarts architecture, seeming to take glee in defacing the school to such an immense proportion. She was completely alone and she was blocking my way to my friends. Now, not to brag, but it is a generally accepted fact that Ravenclaws are the smartest of the bunch. This is just the case. Ravenclaws crave knowledge and are extremely proud of the ability to apply logic to a situation. In _this_ particular situation, I would have brought shame to my Ravenclaw brethren. To say I lacked to apply logic in order to form my actions would have been an understatement. I did the stupidest thing I could think of at the time, to be blunt. I flung myself into the long corridor that Bellatrix was currenting destroying and shrieked the strongest curse I could think of at her. She flung backwards with a screech, her back landing with a sick thud against broken stone. _Bloody… That was easy_, I thought proudly, and strut forward, naively thinking I had killed her.

Her head snapped upwards in an almost cat-like way, and let out a small murmur of happiness. "Oh my, what have we here." As quickly as she had regained consciousness she was on top of me, her long blade shoved against my larynx. "Surely you didn't mean to do that, did you Freya?" her voice reached an almost unearthly pitch, the blade digging deeper into my neck. I only glared my defiance up at her, which she took glee in. I struggled and nearly managed to kick her off. She held on with a sickening cackle. "A feisty little mudblood, are we?" she lowered her head and hissed into my ear, "I'll have to change that." Her voice raised several octaves and she sat up, cocking her head. "Though I suppose I should save you for the Dark Lord, he might be able to use you. Assuming he doesn't decide just to kill you like the rest of you mangy lot. Until then.. Well, I suppose the Death Eaters won't need me for a few." With a sadistic smile, she carved into my arm the same that she did to Hermione's, and any other witch or wizard of mixed breed that crossed her path, regardless of my shrieks and pleads. To this day, I still wear the scar on the inside of my arm proudly, a tribute to those lost in the fight for justice and proof that I survived. On the inside of my left arm, in shaky, carved writing, the word 'Mudblood' sits.

But that, that is only a small tidbit from the story. You may or may not be interested. My name is Freya Crimley, and I am seventy-one years old. How do you know so much about the famous Battle for Hogwarts, you may ask? My dear, please take a seat. How do you take your tea? Cream? Have some sugar. To answer your question, love, I was there. Get comfortable, I'll have to start from the beginning.

My name is Freya Crimley, I am seventy-one years old. I kissed Harry Potter, survived the force that is Bellatrix Lestrange, and fought in the Battle for Hogwarts.

Perhaps you should take notes for your history professor.


End file.
